


Colourflow

by blulious, kakkoweeb, Karasuno Volleygays (ToBeOrNotToBeAGryffindor), kornevable, writinghomunculus



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Domestic Fluff, M/M, Romance, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-25
Updated: 2018-08-25
Packaged: 2019-07-02 11:29:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15795600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blulious/pseuds/blulious, https://archiveofourown.org/users/kakkoweeb/pseuds/kakkoweeb, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToBeOrNotToBeAGryffindor/pseuds/Karasuno%20Volleygays, https://archiveofourown.org/users/kornevable/pseuds/kornevable, https://archiveofourown.org/users/writinghomunculus/pseuds/writinghomunculus
Summary: With each colour comes an image, and each image comes with a memory. / Team KinKage's main round 1 entry.





	Colourflow

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is a collaboration we did for Sportsfest 2018's main round 1, for the theme "colors". We hope you will enjoy it as much as we did while creating it!!

**| White; _Light_ |**

  
  
  
  


* * *

**| Blue; _Loneliness_ |**

The air on the bus leaving the Sendai city gymnasium itches with tension. Despite the full load of passengers, Tobio sits in the seat alone. However, despite having the full bench available, he curls up close to the window and stares at the passing scenery without seeing any of it.

He knows if he looks anywhere else, a dozen hostile glares will put him back in his place. One in particular is all it will take, though. 

Yuutarou sits toward the front of the bus, while Tobio huddles in the very back. He wouldn’t be able to look him in the eye, anyway. Guilt, shame, and a few other things he doesn’t care to put a name on will only churn his insides until he throws up.

The walk home from the school doesn’t go fast enough, but soon, he is safely ensconced in his room. His uniform and club jacket are balled up in the corner, and Tobio has no plans to change that. Even if the volleyball club weren’t over for the third years, he doesn’t think he would go back. 

No one is home, so nobody knocks on the door to ask why he doesn’t bother coming out of his room; he doesn’t leave his room the next day, either. Monday comes and goes, and Tobio makes it to the couch to stare at the blank television instead of going to school. 

The days pass in a haze until his parents return almost a week later and make him go to school again. It isn’t until his teacher sends him to the guidance counselor to discuss the days he missed that Tobio realizes it’s the first time he’s spoken since Saturday. It’s Friday now. His throat is rusty, his voice dull and quiet.

“You realize that truancy is a serious matter, Kageyama-kun,” the counselor whose name Tobio doesn’t remember or care about scolds. “I did attempt to contact your parents, but no one seemed to be around to answer the phone.”

“They were in Tokyo,” Tobio offers dully.

The counselor eyes him closely. “I see. How long were your parents away?”

“Since last Monday.” Tobio recalls day after lonely day, with volleyball being the only respite until his on-court denouncement by his teammates took that away, as well. 

Humming, the counselor drums his fingers on the table. “I trust you understand why that’s a point of concern. You have always had difficulty assimilating with the other students, and combining that with prolonged solitude and that unfortunate incident at last Saturday’s volleyball game —”

Tobio stiffens, and the counselor sighs. “You’ve never missed a day of school before this week, Kageyama-kun, and considering the circumstances, I understand why you felt like you needed some time to yourself.

“But this cannot continue.” He crosses his arms and leans forward on his desk. “You can’t hide from things forever, and isolating yourself will only make things worse.” His expression softens. “It’s hard when your friends make you feel bad. You’re almost out of middle school, and you’ll be in high school soon. It’s a whole new experience. You’ll make new friends, and you won’t want to be alone so much.”

Tobio wants to flee the room, the feeling like he’s a bug in a jar overwhelming. The old man sees but can’t understand the ache he has carried around since he saw his team turn away from him. Since Yuutarou had given him that look of weariness, of resignment. 

Since Yuutarou had given up on him.

“Yes, sir,” Tobio mumbles. He cooperates with the counselor, making the necessary concessions until he’s paroled from this hellish meeting. 

When he returns to class, all eyes are on him except one person. Yuutarou stares straight ahead at the whiteboard.

At lunch, Tobio escapes the classroom to head to the roof. Back against the bricks surrounding the staircase, he hugs his knees to his chest and closes his eyes. The only thing scarcer over the past week than the urge to eat has been the ability to sleep. A nap in the warmth of the sun might ease some of the ache lingering in his, well, _everything_.

A shadow falls over him, and Tobio cranes open an eye enough to spy Yuutarou looming above him. Devoid of the energy necessary for this confrontation, Tobio pretends to be asleep, but his hopes of avoidance are dashed when Yuutarou huffs and says, “I know you’re awake.”

Sagging against the wall, Tobio murmurs, “If you want this spot, I’ll go.” He jumps when Yuutarou’s hand slaps against the wall above him. 

“No, damn it, that’s not what I want.” Tobio looks up with bleary eyes and sees Yuutarou glaring. Not at him, but glaring nonetheless. “You look like crap.”

Tobio doesn’t answer; he knows it’s true. “Yeah.”

“Yeah? Is that really all you have to say to me, Kageyama- _sama_?” Tobio flinches at the name, an echo of every shout, every curt reprimand he had ever spewed at his teammates and Yuutarou in particular. 

Yuutarou is one of the first people to ever show him patience and understanding upon coming to Kitagawa Daiichi. However, he is now the last person Tobio can ever hope to receive it from. Everything they ever had is dissolved at the foot of Tobio’s cold, lonely, unwanted throne.

He doesn’t expect Yuutarou to set something down beside him. Looking over, Tobio gapes at the little white box with a smiling cow on the front — his favorite brand of yogurt milk. Picking it up as if it will explode in his hands, Tobio tilts his head back to stare at Yuutarou. 

“Eat something.” Yuutarou swallows hard, and his voice cracks. “Please.”

Hands trembling, Tobio peels the little straw out of its sleeve and punches it through the foil. Not tearing his gaze away from Yuutarou, he brings the straw to his lips and lets the familiar taste ease its way down his throat.

Yuutarou heads back into the building without another word or backward look, and when the door shuts behind him, Tobio folds into himself and finally lets his shoulders shake as his grief takes hold.

He’s almost late getting back to class, earning a stern look from his teacher, who no doubt has been filled in by the counselor. Despite all of it, he survives the rest of the day so he can retreat once again to the solitary recesses of his room to finish what he started on the roof.

That night, for the first time in a week, sleep comes a little easier, and the next morning, his belly demands proper sustenance and he finally complies. Rested and full, Tobio leaves the house of his own volition for the first time in days. His bag slung over his shoulder, he heads to the local rec center, which sports a beat up volleyball half-court, and finally starts working on something he’s always wanted to do.

Tobio might have driven away his first and best friend at Kitaichi, but the only one who can take volleyball away from Tobio is himself. Somehow, he thinks Yuutarou will hate him even more if he does that. So he tosses the ball in the air and hammers serve after serve to hone the weapon he’s been planning since the first day he saw it executed: the jump serve.

Part of him still sits empty and alone that Tobio knows can never be filled with volleyball, but he’ll be damned if he isn’t going to try.

* * *

**| Grey; _Numbness_ |**

Years go by, and loneliness grows, as the pain becomes a lifeless burden.

* * *

**| Red; _Rising Sun_ |**

“Kindaichi,” Tobio calls once the other players start to clear out, “you staying?”

Everything from Yuutarou’s pause to his glance to his, “Sure,” is brief, and with the welling of relief in Tobio’s chest comes an inexplicable and frustrating dread—something that stems from too long ago, something that he believes, wishes, would be gone by now.

It’s already been a few weeks since this unexpected reunion, on a university court and on the same side of the net. They’d been civil, borderline stiff, stood next to each other but didn’t talk much even as they set off for drills, even after the coach had lined up all the team’s fresh blood and told them where they’d stand for the rest of the season. Tobio would be on the court. Yuutarou would not.

Tobio was the one who asked, a few days later, if Yuutarou wanted in on some extra unsupervised practice. Now that he thinks about it, it might have been a little rude on his part, a subtle declaration of _practice with me so you can be a regular too_ , but Yuutarou’s face hadn’t contorted into the frown that frequented his face at fourteen, and until today, while he sends off the last of their teammates with a wave and then picks up a ball and bounces it, his face is unreadable.

The nicely-settled fear in Tobio screams at him, tells him the pursed lips and blank eyes are part of a mask for the hatred and the anger, but he doesn’t let that distract him. When Yuutarou says, “I’m ready. You?” his nod is dutiful, determined, and he doesn’t let his tosses fall short either.

He sends one up with a quiet thought: _all the hatred and the anger are in the past_. Yuutarou jumps and he spikes and it lands cleanly on the other court.

He sends another with a silent scream: _we’re both turning over a new leaf_. Yuutarou’s jump is higher this time and the ball connects almost naturally with his palm.

The next one goes up with a fleeting whisper: _Kindaichi wants this just as much as you do_. He swears the toss needs work but Yuutarou scores with it, and the course is amazing.

And the next goes up with words said aloud: “Kindaichi, do you want this?”

Yuutarou doesn’t hit this one.

His startled glance at Tobio throws him off and he misses the ball, falls as it hits the floor beside him. “What are you talking about?” he asks, still breathless.

Tobio rests his arms, looks down for the first time since practice began. “I was just...wondering.” His voice is but a murmur. “If you really want to be practicing here with me, or if you’re just putting up with it, or being nice.”

 _If you still hate me_ and _if you still don’t want me as a teammate_ sit cleanly in between the lines but the look on Yuutarou’s face confirm they don’t need to be verbalized. It takes a moment, but he puts his hands on his hips, lets out a deep breath, and when he faces Tobio again he’s wearing a small smile. “Is that the impression I’ve given off to you these past years? _Nice?_ ”

Tobio tenses.

“I’m not nice,” Yuutarou answers for him, picking up the missed ball, “and I’m not going to bother pretending to be, so you can bet that I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to be.”

His response shakes Tobio, excites him, but he lets that energy pool in his hands and the tips of his fingers instead as they prepare to send Yuutarou another toss, one better than all the rest. He takes a breath, carefully watches the run-up, lets his instincts take over as the ball flies his way—

—and makes a mistake, tosses it fast. Too fast, just like in middle school.

Yuutarou hits it with his left hand.

The course is odd but the ball sails smooth, lands like all the rest, and as Yuutarou’s feet hit the ground his eyes are already locked onto Tobio’s, large just as Tobio’s feel, as if to make up for his mouth’s inability to speak, numb and surprised and amazed just like Tobio’s is.

“ _You can hit Kageyama’s fast toss?_ ”

Their coach is also visibly dumbfounded, standing by the doorway with his mouth hanging open and his almost accusatory finger aimed right at Yuutarou trying to stammer his way to an answer for a question that doesn’t necessarily require one. After all, the coach has seen what he’s seen, and the buzzing inside Tobio’s system only gets louder when he sees the old man’s animated smile.

“This changes everything,” he says as he leaves, allowing the words to remain in the silence that wraps the entire gym, and this time, Tobio doesn’t bother trying to hide it. He grins.

Yuutarou grins back.

* * *

**| Purple; _Magic_ |**

“I'm beat,” Yuutarou says, collapsing on the bench in the college’s courtyard, pressing the cold can of coffee against his forehead. “I thought the exams were never going to stop.”

“I don’t want to think about it,” Tobio groans, angrily sipping his carton of strawberry milk. “At least we can still practice.”

“Ha, I was sure you were going to say that.”

Yuutarou sends him a bright grin, and Tobio feels his stomach churn at this sight, a heat warming him all over with no control whatsoever. One year of shared practice and classes will do that, he guesses, after rediscovering the sensations and feelings he once knew. They were hidden, locked somewhere in his heart with a vow of not touching them again until he was ready, and today, today he thinks they waited long enough to be released.

It’s nice, to simply spend time like this, sitting together and sharing their casual student problems, discussing their latest match and tasting different food when they decide to go out to eat. It’s nice to stand next to Yuutarou and think that they’re the equals they’ve always been, not the false king and commoner labels they’ve plastered on their foreheads. The crown has fallen a long time ago.

Tobio swallows, his hands and the milk in his lap. The school year is almost over, and practice doesn’t let much room for conversation, with their teammates scattered across the court. Here, alone on this bench at sundown with its warm rays, after an exhausting but satisfying day, it only feels right.

“Kindaichi.” He will never tire of saying his name.

“Hm?”

There is no correct way to bring up the topic, or a correct way to breathe during this dizzying moment.

“We—are we...are we partners?”

As soon as the words tumble out of his mouth, Tobio feels the urge to bury his head into the concrete and let the pebbles crush his brain. What kind of question is that, with such a vague meaning attached to the term he used? Damn it.

Yuutarou is quiet, pensive. He’s cradling his can of coffee in his hands, and has barely touched it.

“If you mean partners in volleyball, of course we are,” he replies calmly, a bit too calmly maybe.

Tobio doesn’t know what to say, because that’s not what he asked—but he dreads the answer to his real question just as much as he hopes for it. He thinks he can perhaps backtrack right now with the provided opening—

“As life partners, though? Depends on what you want, I guess.”

And in that instant Tobio’s caged feelings broke free.

He laughs, and laughs, and laughs, and Yuutarou is giving him a confused stare, which he doesn't blame since this isn't exactly the reaction one would expect, especially from him.

“I'm sorry, I—I realized just how powerful all this is,” he says through his laughter. “And I realize how perceptive you are.”

Yuutarou huffs. “It's not like we've never had it. We're just...continuing what we were.”

It sounds incredibly cheesy and a bit dumb, but Tobio won't have it any other way. He blindly reaches for Yuutarou’s arm, not daring to lift his head for fear of showing his stupid grin, and Yuutarou meets him halfway, linking their fingers together. A piece of magic frozen in time. They both know they are smiling, anyway.

* * *

**| Green; _New Beginning_ |**

Subconsciously searching for a familiar warmth beside him, Yuutarou sleepily rolls closer to the left of his bed. Lukewarm bedsheets being all that he’s found, Yuutarou shifts, eyes opening slowly as the light of dawn creeps through the window blinds.

Waking up to an empty bed, the smell of Earl Grey wafts through the partly opened door. Yuutarou lets the smell calm him, weigh him down with the depth of its aroma— one he’s become familiar with in the past month.

The first morning the spot beside his in bed felt cool, something fierce and ugly clawed its way up Yuutarou’s throat. Wrecking the queen-sized bed, pillows tossed and blankets turned, he remembers the light squeak of the door creaking open, the ghasted look on Tobio’s face and the almost inaudible, “I—I’m sorry.” 

(Tobio always thought things were his fault, and Yuutarou’s had enough of damning himself for that. They’ve both got ways to go.)

It’s almost unbelievable how they’ve gone from that to this.

Sliding off bed, Yuutarou approaches the small kitchen, the source of Earl Grey prancing in the air. He’s never known anyone else to be fond of this flowery taste, a reminder of Tobio’s time in Europe playing for the national team.

His boyfriend stands against the counter, and from the way Tobio’s tongue pokes out in a funny face, Yuutarou knows he’s burnt it from the tea. Snaking his arms around his love’s waist, he presses a kiss to the top of the other’s head, murmuring a ‘good mornin’’.

Tobio turns to face him, tip of his tongue still wagging, and furrow in his brow a seemingly permanent accessory. Kindaichi barks out a laugh.

“What?”

“C’mon,” Yuutarou urges, gently cupping his boyfriend's cheek, tilting his chin slightly, “I’ll make it better.”

Ever the one to miss hints, Tobio asks, “How?”

“I’m gonna kiss you, duh.”

Yuutarou smiles himself silly at the way Tobio flushes, his own racing heartbeat forgotten once they’re exchanging a slow, sweet kiss. Forever feels shorter than he would like, and that’s how long the kiss lasts. They part, and where Yuutarou expected to see nervousness and jitters in sideward glances and a chewn lip, Tobio is looking at him in the eyes, an angel’s smile gracing his face, and he kisses a ‘thank you’ into Yuutarou’s space.

(They’ve both got ways to go, but this time, they’ll walk this path together.)

* * *

**| Yellow; _Steady Light_ |**

Even with the midday light filtering through the window, casting a radiant shade over everything it touches and giving it a more than a pleasant appearance, nothing could save the state of the kitchen.

“It's not like we did it on purpose,” Tobio says, staring at the pool of oil slowly making its trek towards the edge of the kitchen counter. 

“I don't know if that makes it better or worse,” Yuutarou comments as he snatches a wet rag and blocks the oil's trail. “We made sure not to spill anything and to keep the kitchen clean.”

Tobio moves the pan from the stove to the sink, opens the faucet and rinses it. Nothing comes off. He looks at the batter dotting the counter and the utensils still covered in various preparation liquids. That's worse than what he thought. 

“We don't bake often, so we should have expected it to be a mess.”

“Yeah, I guess so. But the cookies are good!”

Which they are, not necessarily a chef's quality but still enjoyable. Tobio nods and takes another cookie, munching on it and feeling all the efforts they put into it melting on the tongue. It's not bad, for a baking session decided on the spot because they wanted to eat something sweet. They could have done without redecorating their kitchen, but well. That's what happens when you don't make sure you clean up after using whatever tool you need. Actually, it’s quite a feat they didn’t burn the cookies or make something explode.

Tobio has to admit that living together is a development he hasn’t imagined happening so fast, and every day feels like a miracle, or a dream that’s just too good to be true. But he knows it’s real, he knows that every piece of furniture they own is a joint decision, that waiting for the other at dinnertime has become as normal as going out for a run (they do it together as well, at six am sharp), and that if he looks at the pictures hanging in the hall, he will find two people sharing the same space and smiling, at peace. No more gloomy faces when they are looking at each other, no more heaviness when he thinks about their past mistakes, because the feats they’ve accomplished is what counts and having overcome their struggles is what truly matters. This is proof of how far they’ve come, and the embodiment of what they can still do.

In the end, they spent an entire morning baking cookies and haven’t started with lunch yet. Tobio sighs, scratches his head and surveys the room.

“Let’s do what we can, before getting lunch.”

Yuutarou looks up from the plate he is scrubbing, and frowns a little. Tobio still needs to gather the courage to freely say what he thinks, but Yuutarou always looks kind of adorable when he’s pondering something trivial. Granted, cleaning up their mess isn’t trivial, but it’s such an ordinary aspect of their new life that Tobio finds it appropriate to consider it not so singular anymore.

“We’ll have to get better at this, because I’m not going to spend a chunk of my day cleaning up every time we bake.”

His smile is easy, teasing a bit, evidence enough of how long they’ve been around each other, and Tobio marvels at how a simple gesture makes his heart pound with raw emotion. Standing here, side by side, under the light, only feels right, as if despite everything, they were meant to be.

* * *

**| Pink; _New Future_ |**

Yuutarou’s hands are shaking, and he can’t stop it. He can’t rely on Tobio to calm his nerves, either, because his husband is just as nervous as he is, even if he doesn’t show it outwardly. The two of them are huddled together in the waiting room of the hospital, silently praying for a nurse or an orderly or someone to come put them out of their misery.

It’s been fourteen hours, and from what Yuutarou has heard and read, it could be days before this whole ordeal is finally over. Knowing what he knows now, he has no idea how the human race has managed to propagate over the millennia. Childbirth is terrifying.

He looks over at Tobio, whose jaw is set so firmly that Yuutarou fears his teeth might crack from the paranoid grinding. There’s a stab of guilt, because Tobio had said he isn’t ready for this, yet Yuutarou had pled his case. His sixteen-year-old cousin Yumeko had found herself in trouble, so to speak, and when his mother told him about it, Yuutarou had known this would be their one real chance to build a family if she were willing to give the child to them rather than put her up for adoption.

Now, though, Yumeko is in a hospital room ejecting an entire human from her body, and Yuutarou is scared. Scared that something will go wrong, scared that he’ll be a terrible parent, scared that Tobio will change his mind and say he doesn’t want a daughter after all, scared that Yumeko will change her mind and decide to keep her baby, who they’ve stupidly already picked out a name for.

“Oh god, I need to do something,” Yuutarou murmurs to himself, raking his hands roughly down his face. “Tobio, do you need a drink or anything?”

Not looking up from his own hands clenched in his lap, Tobio answers, “No, I —” He looks up Yuutarou with wide eyes, but his expression softens to something years of practice have identified as concern. “Let’s get some coffee.”

Of course, Yuutarou doesn’t drink coffee and it makes Tobio jittery, but he appreciates the familiar arm laced in his as they head toward the hospital cafeteria and load up on snacks neither of them are in the mood to eat. Tobio does immediately crack open his bottle of strawberry milk, and Yuutarou can’t help but chuckle at the little pink mustache that lingers on his lip. 

When they’re back in the stairwell heading back to the battlefield that is the maternity ward, Yuutarou kisses away the remnants of the milk on Tobio’s face. “I hope you weren’t saving that for later.” He lets out a nervous little laugh, but it quickly devolves into a hysterical one. Without preamble, he drops onto the steps and hides his face in his knees.

Tobio sits beside him, their shoulders flush together. “You’re upset.”

Long ago giving up on chiding Tobio for stating the obvious, Yuutarou merely chokes, “Yeah.”

“You don’t have to worry, Yuu.” Tobio grasps Yuutarou’s upper arms and turns him so they’re facing each other, and he can’t and won’t bother fighting Tobio’s will in the matter. Not when his bright blue eyes, not at all dulled by the years or the things they’ve seen, spark with determination. “Everything will be all right.”

“How can you say that?” Yuutarou bites his bottom lip harshly and squeezes his eyes shut. With a hiccup, his fears pour out of him like a freshly lanced wound. 

When he finishes, Tobio reaches up and flicks him in the forehead. “Don’t be stupid, Yuu. I’m not going to change my mind, and you couldn’t be a crappy dad if you tried. Also, if Yumeko does change her mind about keeping her, there isn’t anything we can do about it so there’s no sense in worrying.”

Yuutarou rests his forehead against Tobio’s and swallows hard. “How do you know I won’t be a bad father? I don’t know how to be a dad. I know we’ve read a ton of book and took classes and stuff, but none of that can really prepare you for reality.”

“True.” Tobio’s lips purse in thought, and Yuutarou can’t help but chortle at that old but endearing expression. “How do you know _I_ won’t be a bad parent?”

Brows knit in puzzlement, Yuutarou says, “Why would you be? You’ll probably be awkward until, like, the fifth of forever, but you work damn hard for the people and things who matter to you. How could you be a bad father?”

“My point exactly.” Tobio kisses Yuutarou’s forehead and gives him a crooked smile. “Let’s go eat our weight in junk food.” Yuutarou nods, and they link their arms together and start back up the stairs. 

Halfway to the third floor, both their alert tones rattle to life, and they scramble to check the caller id. The message is from Yuutarou’s mother.

_It’s safe for you boys to come in now. The worst is over._

Sharing a look, they both take off at a sprint up the stairs and barrel through the maternity ward until they skid to a halt outside of Yumeko’s room. Hands links almost painfully tight, Tobio gives Yuutarou an encouraging bob of the head and they push into the room together.

Yuutarou swallows hard at the scene. There are bloody towels and chunks of something he doesn’t care to identify smeared into the sheets. Yet as soon as he turns his attention to the nurse wiping away bits of stuff off of this squirming little pink thing that’s shrieking like a cat with its tail on fire, everything else falls away. His mother, Yumeko, the doctor, and even Tobio fade out as he hones in on this scrap of life that will depend on him for as long as he lives.

The umbilical cord cut and the rest of her tightly swaddled, the nurse approaches them, holding out the baby to either of them who is ready to take it. “Your daughter is ready to see you,” she says with a smile.

Choking back a sob, Yuutarou watches in wonder as Tobio accepts the child — _their_ child. Tobio carefully tucks her into the crook of his arm, eyes wide as her tiny fist wraps around his finger and tries to pull it into her mouth. He looks at Yuutarou with his jaw hanging open, and Yuutarou doesn’t blame him one bit.

Yuutarou edges in closer to cocoon her between them, and he lets out a snotty chuckle while tears pour unabashedly down his face. “Hello, Hana-chan.”

“Do you want to hold her?” Tobio lifts Hana up, and Yuutarou is trembling as he accepts this precious bundle.

He nearly jolts in surprise when her crying dwindles down into a doze, and his eyes lock with Tobio’s. “She’s here. She’s really here.”

“She is.” Tobio leans in when Yuutarou’s mother whispers something into his ear, and he nods solemnly. “Yumeko wants to talk to you.”

Dread mounts in Yuutarou’s gut as he hands Hana off to Tobio once again, and soon him and his young cousin are the only ones in the room. He gives her a weak smile and tucks a sweaty lock of hair off of her forehead. “Hey.”

Yumeko closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. “I need you to do something for me.”

“Anything.” Her words do nothing to ease the knot in his throat, but he doesn’t dare say no to a woman who just passed a bowling ball from a very sensitive place. 

She snares Yuutarou’s hand and squeezes it. “When she’s older, maybe sixteen or something, will you tell her who I am?”

Yuutarou presses her limp fingers to his mouth for a reverent kiss and nods. “Of course. We would never keep you from knowing her if you wanted to. Whatever works for you works for us.”

“Are you sure? I know —”

“We’re sure.” Yuutarou grabs a towel from a nearby stack and sponges the rigors of labor from her face. “You just gave us the most amazing gift, Yumeko-chan. Now let us give one to you. Wherever you need to go in life, whatever you want to do, we’ll be there to help you.”

Yumeko sinks back into her pillows and closes her eyes. “Thank you, Yuu-chan. You’ll be a great dad, and so will your weirdo husband.” Yuutarou laughs and leaves her alone to sleep. 

Outside, Tobio gives him a questioning look. “Is everything all right?”

Yuutarou laughs and wraps his arms around his family, the loves of his life, and says, “Never better.”

* * *

**| Omake |**


End file.
